


Ways To Start Feeling Again

by Yelposaurus



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Feelings, Introspection, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, park benches, parks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yelposaurus/pseuds/Yelposaurus
Summary: I look out to a time before the sun has risen, and wonder if it can really be called morning or dawn yet. Either way, this time is really quite beautiful. It marks a place when the whole world isn't really awake yet, when they still have an hour or two left on their alarm clocks. The thought makes mewant.For what, I think I have some kind of idea.The bench I'm leaning on has a name on it. I haven't read it yet, and I don't think I will. This is someone else's remembrance, and I won't spoil that. It's quite old, and there are a few patches of moss growing on the underside. One of the arms has broken off at some point, and it isn't there anymore. There are a few stains of something like coffee or tea, and some shrivelled chips that haven't been picked up by birds or dogs or squirrels yet sit underneath. It's pretty, in a way that shows how things age over time.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Ways To Start Feeling Again

There's no one around at the moment. Soon, this place will be filled to overflowing with children and parents and grandparents who have all come for a picnic or to meet up with friends or to entertain their kids for a little while. But for now, none of them are here, so I sit alone. It's nice. It's quiet in a way that you can't really find in cities - at least, not at night. 

The bench I'm leaning on has a name on it. I haven't read it yet, and I don't think I will. This is someone else's remembrance, and I won't spoil that. It's quite old, and there are a few patches of moss growing on the underside. One of the arms has broken off at some point, and it isn't there anymore. There are a few stains of something like coffee or tea, and some shrivelled chips that haven't been picked up by birds or dogs or squirrels sit underneath. It's pretty, in a way that shows how things age over time.  
A cool wind blows and ruffles the fur on the edges of my coat, pulling at my hair and face and eyes. The sun hasn't quite risen yet, which explains the cold and the emptiness. Trees are dotted haphazardly beside the path, and a few of their dead leaves are picked up and thrown about by the wind. 

I think I've fallen in love with this view, but I'm not too sure.

I haven't really ever felt something like this before. 

This feeling is warm and fuzzy in my chest so much it _aches_ just a little, and it makes me want to press the heel of my hand against it to calm my heart down. The sensation spreads through my body, lighting up behind my eyes and gathering in my fingertips and it makes me feel so many things, like I might just be alive. It's so overwhelming, and I'm caught up in it's waves and I can't get out, but it's like I'm not really sure if I actually want to. My heart weighs down to my feet, pressing them into the ground and keeping me there, having too much air but never enough all at the same time. It _hurts,_ in a way that I never could have known and it aches and aches and aches. I want to stay here forever, to see this pretty sight before me for eternity, and know that it will never grow old. Here, with the sounds of wind rushing through the few leaves that never go away even in winter and the smell of wood and grass and morning dew and the feel of the raw bench that has a name I still can't look at and the taste of the cold on my tongue that sends some kind of freshness sprinting down my spine and my heart _hurts--_

But then someone's there, this shield and wall that I can rely on even if I don't really know who they are. They call me back to myself, comforting and reassuring. They're close, but they don't crowd, and they touch, but never linger. They help me breathe, and calm down my heart. Everything's stopped aching, just a little, and hurts a bit less. When I open my eyes, they have a gentle hold on my wrists, and their irises are striking. 

"Hey," they say, and some tension leaves their body. "Hey, it's okay." The smile, and it's soft and it's quiet in a way that suits only them. "You just forgot who you are. Welcome back."

I stare, dumbfounded, and try to gather myself up in my arms and put myself back together. We sit back on the bench, and I don't look at the name written on the front. We sit in silence for a little while, and they sit close enough that our knees sometimes brush whenever I move my leg to far to the right.  
I look out to a time before the sun has risen, and wonder if it can really be called morning or dawn yet. Either way, this time is really quite beautiful. It marks a place when the whole world isn't really awake, when they still have an hour or two left on their alarm clocks. The thought makes me _want._  
For what, I think I have some kind of idea. 

"Is there a way?" I say, and I don't know if they've caught on. 

"A way for what?" they ask, and it seems that they haven't. 

"To feel things properly, like you're meant to. If there is, please tell me," I say. "I've been struggling for quite a while now." They turn their head to the left to look at me, and I once again find myself only a little lost in their eyes. 

"Ah, if only," they laugh, and it blends in with the wind and the leaves. "I'm not too sure. But if there is, I'll help you find it." That's enough for now. It's all I need. Maybe I'll want more soon, _deserve_ more, but here, with the bench and the sun and the trees, it's enough. "There are still so many things to do. You aren't too old, not yet. But you will be, and then you won't find what you're looking for. By then, it'll be too late, and you can never go back. So we'll look for it now, okay? Just you and me. You'll feel better then, won't you?"

My heart is beating a little faster than usual, and I can't get it to stop. I'm not sure if I want it to. I look back into their eyes, then, and find the stars looking back. "Yeah," I say, and my heart speeds up just a little more. "Yeah, that sounds alright."

We stand, and they put a hand on my shoulder. The light from the rising sun glances off the gold of the name on the bench. Their hand's warmth seeps through my clothes, and the stars in their pupils shine a little brighter.  
"I hope you fall in love with being alive again," they say, and their eyes roar in ways I didn't know existed and their mouth curves at the edges and sinks in the middle and their face softens, looking all pretty and welcoming. 

I'm a little unsteady on my feet at the moment, so all I can say is, "Yeah," _breathless,_ before the hand is gone. 

We go off to find some pretty ways to start feeling a little better, and I think maybe being alive isn't so bad after all.


End file.
